


Dance with Me

by Beth Harker (Beth_Harker)



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2019-09-29 20:45:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17210642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beth_Harker/pseuds/Beth%20Harker
Summary: Corrupting Itey seems to be the order of the day. Racetrack bets that nobody can separate Itey and Snitch for a four hour stretch of time. Bumlets decides to give it a try.





	Dance with Me

Corrupting Itey was the order of the day, at least for the rather small subset of the Newsboys’ Union that huddled outside of Tibby’s to smoke after their evening meal each night.

Bumlets had his doubts about the the goal, the habit, and even about the company for that matter. Racetrack only cared about stirring up trouble and roping you into a bad bet. Swiftly was nice and funny to talk to, but his pockets were always full of stolen goods, that he was just a little bit too happy hand off to everybody around him. Then there was Snipeshooter, who got into more trouble than his young age warranted. Skittery wallowed so deeply in his own cynicism that he couldn’t tell night from day, and Jack Kelly lied with each breath he took. Even the cigarettes themselves were false friends, which irritated Bumlets’ throat no matter how many times he switched brands.

Simply put, the boys and the smokes were trouble of the worst kind, and Bumlets didn’t want to be involved in trouble - he just wanted to keep up appearances, and to know every last bit of what was going on.

“So let me tell you about Snitch,” Swify was saying. “Wait a second, you guys want some boiled hard candies? They’s strawberry flavored. No sense letting them melt in my pockets.”

Race and Snipeshooter stuck their hands out first, and Swify handed the candies out to everybody. The sweet taste and smell of them mingled with the taste and smell of tobacco.

“Anyways,” Swifty continued, “like I was saying, I gots this box of jewelry under my bed, and Snitch don’t think I came by it fairly, so…”

Snipeshooter snickered at the word jewelry, not that it was news to anybody that Swifty had a collection of the stuff that would put the Queen Victoria to shame.

“You didn’t come by it fairly,” Racetrack pointed out.

“And what’s that got to do with Snitch, I ask you?”

“Right,” Jack took a drag out of his cigarette. “The kid’s got no business of his own to mind, so he minds everybody else’s.”

“He goes to church,” said Bumlets.

“Uh-huh, and it makes him a sanctimonious ass,” said Jack. Bumlets considered pointing out that he also went to church, albeit a different one, but he didn’t see the sense of turning it into a point of contention, at least not around the other boys. Besides, Racetrack did that for him.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with keeping your soul clean, long as you don’t drag others into it.”

“What about converts?” Bumlets asked.

Racetrack rolled his eyes, “Are you dragging in your converts kicking and screaming, or letting them follow you in on their own? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Bumlets, it don’t take a genius to figure out what I’m saying here.”

Bumlets just shrugged. He’d never converted anybody anyway. He didn’t care enough. It was just theoretical. He was getting bored of standing around. He’d gotten through as much of his cigarette as he was going to, and he wanted to be up and about. He could return to the lodging house on his own, and go out back or up to the roof and practice some dance steps. He could practice his fencing. The night had endless possibilities, but only if he was on his own without a whole troupe of other newsies and their prattle.

That was when the topic of Itey came up.

“About my jewels.” Swifty’s voice pointedly loud, as he tried to turn the conversation back to himself. “Snitch said he was gonna run and tell Kloppman about every last one of them if…”

“Hate to break it to you,” said Skittery, “but the old man knows. He knows everything.”

Swifty gave Skittery a withering look. He wasn’t done speaking. “Like I was sayin’…”

“What, were you saying something?” Jack asked innocently.

Snipeshooter elbowed Jack in the side. “Hey Jack, tell him how we’ll let him finish his story for another candy.”

Jack shrugged. “You heard the kid. Pay up. Can’t listen on an empty stomach.”

If Swifty was bothered at having to put forth a bribe, he didn’t show it. He took a whole heap of candies out of his pocket, and handed them to Snipeshooter, whose eyes went as big as saucers, before he shoved every last one of them into his mouth at once.

“Satisfied?” Asked Swifty.

“Mm-hmm,” muttered Snipeshooter through chipmunk cheeks.

“Anyways,” Swifty was finally able to continue, “while Snitch was jabbering on about thievery and hellfire or whatever it is he talks about, Itey grinned at me, pointed to my jewelry box, and said, ‘It’s-a-alright-a!’, then he smiled real big. I’m telling you, Itey and Snitch ain’t made of the same stuff, and we got a responsibility to rescue Itey before it’s too late.”

From there on out, the conversation turned to rescuing Itey. Snipeshooter wanted to teach him the worst curse words that he knew in place of the words for completely innocuous every day objects, in hopes that if he called a shaving razor a gamahooch that would be enough in and of itself to drive Snitch away. Jack was in favor of laying out the facts for Itey, all slow and careful like, only his version of facts presented Snitch as a leering villain who tossed unbaptized babies into rivers of fire. Swifty wanted to teach Itey to steal, and Skittery was in favor of minding his own business and letting Itey and Snitch carry on as usual, since they’d probably get tired of each other anyway.

Racetrack proposed a bet.

“I ain’t sayin’ you got to split the two of ‘em up forever,” Race explained, “Just get Itey away from   
Snitch for… let’s say three hours, alright? One of you does it, I’ll give him twenty cents. None of you'se can, you owe me five cents each. How’s that sound?”

“Oughta give us twenty-five cents, since there’s five of us expected to give you a nickel each if we lose,” Skittery pointed out.

“I agree.” Bumlets wasn’t even sure if he was going to play, but if he was then a fair bet held a lot more appeal than an unfair one.

“Twenty cents, and two shots of gin, best to be had. That’s my final offer.”

That settled it. The boys shook hands in agreement, and the bet began.

———-

“Why’s everyone tryin’ to turn Itey against me?” Snitch was talking to Mush, but Bumlets could hear him loud and clear. Snitch’s voice tended to carry.  
“I don’t think anybody’d do that,” Mush was quick to assure him, “They’s just trying to be friendly. How’s Itey going to feel welcome in America if nobody talks to him?”

“They was talking to him before,” Snitch insisted. “Now they’s trying to take him away.”

Mush frowned. “I don’t see why anybody’d do that,” he repeated. “That wouldn’t be very nice of ‘em. Besides, I overheard Race telling Itey you was a good friend, and to stick close to you through thick and thin.”

“Did he really say that?” Asked Snitch.

“Yeah! That and a whole bunch of things in Italian. See? Race likes you so much that he had to tell Itey in two languages!”

Snitch sighed, as though he didn’t quite trust what Mush was saying. He looked thoughtful and worried. Bumlets tried to assuage his conscience with the fact that he hadn’t been trying to take Itey away from Snitch, at least not really. Itey was nice, but it wasn’t as though Bumlets was looking for a close friend. He already had one close friend who lived in Boston and wrote him letters in Spanish. That was about all he had time for. Hearing Snitch talk like this, though, Bumlets felt a wave of guilt. He’d asked Itey to sell with him the other day, in a half-hearted attempt to win Racetrack’s bet, and Snitch had looked heartbroken.

That evening, just before most of the guys went to bed, Bumlets tried another tactic.

“Hey Snitch,” he said, coming across the other boy as he was brushing his teeth. When Bumlets put his hand on Snitch’s shoulder, Snitch dropped his brush in the sink.

“What do you want?” Snitch asked.

“Honestly? To get out of here for a few hours. I’m going dancing. There’s a place I know. Are you in?”

Snitch didn’t answer right away. He’d reached gingerly into the sink to pick up his toothbrush, which had fallen right into the center of the gunk that the other newsies had spat out while brushing their own teeth. Snitch made a face, wiped the toothbrush on his long johns, then stood holding it awkwardly at his side, slack-jawed and unsure of what to do.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Bumlets told him, in way of apology. “Rinse that off with soap, and it’ll be fine.”

“What’re you gettin’ at, Bumlets?”

Bumlets cocked his head quizzically to the side. Snitch fidgeted. He kept blinking, and he kept his gaze trained anywhere but on Bumlets’ face.

“You tryin’ to trick me?” Snitch asked. He huffed out a heavy breath.

“No trick,” Bumlets promised. “I like to dance, and I like to stay out of trouble. You seem like someone who knows how to keep out of trouble.”

“Yeah… yeah. So maybe you like to dance. Maybe you does, but I’m a temperance man and…”

Bumlets smiled, and reached out to touch Snitch’s arm. “That’s fine,” he told him. “I don’t like to get drunk. I’ll hold off the drink all together, if it’ll make you feel better. I don’t need it. The music’s enough for me. Why don’t you just come?”

“This place you go to, is it going to be full of foreigners?”

That gave Bumlets pause. He bit back the desire to say something sharp. “America’s made of foreigners,” he said instead. “Like Itey, and my parents. Would’ve thought you of all people would understand that.”

Snitch nodded, the conflict playing across his face. “Okay,” he said finally. “Okay. I’ll go dancing with you, Bumlets. Just let me get dressed?”

“Great! Just one thing - it’s a full house we’re heading to. I can bring one friend, but that’s it. This time at least.”

“One friend,” Snitch repeated, smiling now. “One friend. Alright Bumlets, I got it. Just next time invite Itey 'stead of me, okay? I want my friends and his friends to be the same is all.”

“Good idea,” Bumlets agreed. “I’ll meet you at the door.”

 

—————–

It didn’t take Bumlets long to get involved in the dance, once he was there. These were his people, and he knew them. A lot of it was wild, a celebration of movement that anybody might enjoy, even a novice. Bumlets, however, was no novice. He’d spent so many nights humming songs to himself, while he created new moves and new steps. Bumlets was a person who had always felt uncomfortable being at the center of things, uncomfortable being noticed, but when he was in motion everything changed. Soon he had a circle of people clapping around him, while he spun around with some girl who he barely knew. It was wonderful. He was happy and alive.

Eventually he had to take a break, and get some ice. He was sweating. The room was stuffy, and the heat almost oppressive when he stopped to notice it. Bumlets took a seat next to Snitch, who was off to the side watching everything, and sucking his thumb.

“Here,” Bumlets handed a bit of ice over to him. Snitch barely reacted. Bumlets knew that he ought to say something to comfort Snitch, who was clearly overwhelmed, but he didn’t know what. instead, Bumlets lit up a cigarette and started to smoke. As usual, it tickled his throat, and Bumlets found himself coughing.

“Why’re you doing that?” Itey asked. “Smokin’ I mean. Seems like it makes you cough. Me too.”

Bumlets looked at the cigarette in his hand. He tapped some of the ash onto he ground. “You know many fellas who don’t?”

“I don’t.”

“That so? Well, you’re one of a kind, Snitch.”

Snitch’s thumb went back to his mouth. Bumlets watched him for a moment, before putting his cigarette out.

“I got tired of Kloppman calling me a girl,” Bumlets admitted in a low tone. “Not that there’s anything wrong with girls, or that I’d mind being one, but he says it like it’s an insult, and I guess I’m not so…”

“Some girls smoke,” Snitch pointed out.

“Girls with money.”

“Girls with low morals.”

“No,” Bumlets tried to explain. “It’s like this. Rich girls go for thin, good quality smokes and they put them on long sticks and smoke them like this…” Bumlets attempted to demonstrate. “Then poor girls, they either smoke 'em in secret, else they take pride in looking tough. It’s not the same as when fellas do it.”

Bumlets reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, trying to decide whether or not to go in for another one. “Can’t say they’ve done me much good,” he went on. “Truth is, they don’t agree with me, and the old man says I smoke them prettily. Prettily! Anyways, once you start up with them, there ain’t any stopping. Your body up and decides it likes them, and that’s it.”

“I heard some of the things Kloppman says about you,” Snitch said quietly, as if Kloppman might be about to jump out of the shadows. “I like the old man. I do. But it ain’t right.”

Bumlets shook his head. He knew pretty well that it wasn’t right, but that didn’t mean that he knew what to make of it, or that he wanted to think about it while he was outside and having fun. “Get up and dance with me,” Bumlets suggested instead.

“I don’t know how.”

“I’ll teach you. Something simple. Or… do you see pretty Sonia over there, with the red skirt? I’ll ask her to teach you.”

Snitch’s face reddened, from his neck all the way up to the tips of his ears. “I’d rather you teach me, if it’s all the same.”

Bumlets smiled. He nodded, and taking hold of Snitch’s arms, led him to the dance floor.

 

————-

The next night found Bumlets back where he’d started, outside of Tibby’s with Racetrack, Snipeshooter, Swifty, Skittery, and Jack. This time, Bumlets was the first to speak.

“You owe me twenty cents,” he told Racetrack. “And as for the gin, I think we all can share it.”

“Oh yeah? I didn’t see you hangin’ around with Itey any.” Racetrack gave Bumlets a challenging look.

“The bet wasn’t to hang around with Itey. It was to get Itey away from Snitch for four hours. Took Snitch out dancing for at least six last night.”

“It’s true,” Skittery pointed out. “I saw 'em leave, and I saw 'em come back.”

“And I saw Snitch asleep against the Horace Greeley statue about an hour ago,” Jack added. “Thumb in his mouth, peaceful as can be.”

Bumlets just grinned at Race. “We might make a regular thing of it,” he said. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to pay me, other than this once. I had fun.”


End file.
